


as if you were a mythical thing

by limerental



Series: Yenralt Valentines [6]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dom Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Dom/sub, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Reading Glasses, Knitting, Old Married Couple, Scene Gone Wrong, Sub Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, as in it doesn't begin in the first place, ponyplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29121243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limerental/pseuds/limerental
Summary: Old married couple Geralt and Yennefer attempt to liven up their sex lives. If only Geralt would stop ruining Yennefer's ponyplay scene with horse facts.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Yenralt Valentines [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136729
Comments: 10
Kudos: 77
Collections: A Very Yenralt Valentine





	as if you were a mythical thing

**Author's Note:**

> written for A Very Yenralt Valentine for the prompt "unicorn"
> 
>  **content warning** for really bad horse innuendo

Yennefer appears in the doorway to their study, leaning sensually, the apparent “something special” she had promised Geralt this evening swinging from a crooked finger. Geralt peers over the magenta plastic frame of his reading glasses at her and blinks a few times, trying to decide whether he should put his knitting aside now or after she explains. 

Their retirement to the edge of the suburbs after Ciri moved out has been comfortable and quaint. The housing plan they live in is older and shaded by gnarled oak trees, fortunately much closer to the stable where Roach is boarded than their high-rise apartment had been. Geralt is already sketching out plans for a woodland garden and in the meantime has decided that certainly as a world traveller, Ciri needs at least as many handmade wool hats as days of the week. It’s been comfortable. Quaint.

But for Yennefer, perhaps it has been too comfortable.

“Ahem,” says Yennefer, adjusting her hip into an even more sensual lean, the contraption held loosely in her hand jingling slightly. Geralt blinks some more, taking in what appears to be a mess of straps with silver hardware that would look more at home in Roach’s tack box than in the bedroom.

Yennefer’s “something special”s are nearly always bedroom-related, and mostly, Geralt has few complaints. He isn’t quite as adventurous as his wife and doesn’t get the need to clutter their personal spaces with obscure toys and contraptions and accoutrements, most notably the life-size taxidermy unicorn that occupies a corner of the basement. That had been a bitch and a half to move in and an embarrassing struggle to convince Yennefer that they should position it someplace that wasn’t the cozy, formal living room with its wall-spanning windows that faced the road.

He doesn’t mind the tricks and gadgets in the moment but would be just as happy with only the two of them, bare and unbothered rolling in their oversized mattress together, delighting in the ways their aging bodies have changed in the decades since they first met one another. Yennefer has allowed herself to soften as she learned to care less about how the world sees her and now has a delightful pooch around her middle and does not hide the moles on her cheeks or the wrinkles at the corner of her mouth and eyes with too much makeup.

In the doorway now, she looks stunning and as well-put together as she ever has, garters snug about her thighs giving to dark stockings that disappear into tall, calf-hugging leather boots, a bodice of black lace cupping the swell of her hips and small breasts, her dark hair loose in frizzed curls across her shoulders.

She jingles the contraption in her hand again.

“Is that--” asks Geralt, and he does not have to elaborate to know that it is.

A rubber bit and a headstall with blinders, complete with long leather reins that drape over Yennefer’s arms, certainly not appropriately fitted for use on a horse.

“Pony up, big boy,” drawls Yennefer, and Geralt cannot help but snort. When he does not immediately jump to attention from his cozy armchair, she huffs in impatience. “Come on, I could go get the riding crop as well, you know. I know many ways to encourage lazy mounts to pick up the pace.”

“Can I finish my row first?” asks Geralt, knitting needles clacking.

“Fine, fine.”

Yennefer examines her cuticles until Geralt finally sets aside his knitting and folds his little reading glasses beside them, rising to meet her.

“Come on,” she says with a glint in her eyes. She gestures for him to kneel on the shag rug in the middle of the room, mindful of his bad knees. “Let’s get you harnessed.”

“That’s a bridle, Yen,” says Geralt, kneeling with hands folded behind his back, amused smile twitching on his lips.

“Yes, bridled.” She rolls her eyes. “Now, you obviously won’t be able to speak with the bridle in your mouth, so our usual method of signalling that you would like to stop will do, yes?”

“The bit.”

“What?”

“The part of the bridle that goes in the mouth is the bit.”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” Yen huffs and leans close to him, tangling her fingers in his greyed hair and tugging gently until his head is tipped back and jaw open for her. “Just wait, Geralt. I’m going to ride you hard and put you away wet.”

Geralt chuckles. “Hope you’ve got the vet on speed dial.”

“Why?”

“Could colic. Wouldn’t want that.”

“Geralt,” Yennefer scolds, “can’t we allow for a bit of fantasy here?”

“Should have gotten me a unicorn horn too if that’s what you wanted.”

She sighs, massaging the bridge of her nose with pinched fingers.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she says when she composes herself, pressing close enough to Geralt that he can feel the warmth of her body. “I will bridle and mount you and ride until I am satisfied. If my stallion behaves, he can have a nice warm bran mash after a good rubdown.”

“Then I’ll definitely colic.”

“Geralt!”

Contrary to her attempts to salvage the scene, she too is laughing, the bridle jingling in her grip as she swats at him gently with the reins.

“Sorry,” he laughs, thinking how beautiful she looks when she smiles, “sorry, start again. I’ll restrain myself.”

“Sure you will,” says Yennefer but ducks to arrange the reins over his shoulders, holding the leather bridle so she can guide it where it needs to go.

As she does so, Geralt gets a closer at the curved bit attached to the contraption.

“Wait, is that a Pelham? With a single rein converter? Yennefer, you should know better than--”

She presses the gag between his lips before he can say more and snugly fastens the straps.


End file.
